


Expensive Taste

by harryismymuse



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, F/M, Harry Styles - Freeform, Rough Sex, Sexual Violence, Smut, Spanking, Sugar Daddy, Sugar Daddy Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 16:22:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4228662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harryismymuse/pseuds/harryismymuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>- ...It wasn’t until almost the end of the night that I was approached by a man dressed in a black suit with red pinstripes, hair flowing down in waves to his shoulders. His face was young; smooth, tanned skin, bright eyes, and the lean, muscled figure of someone in their mid twenties at most. But his quietly powerful demeanor spoke of someone much older and certainly accustomed to having the world at his fingertips. -</p>
<p>Harry is a Sugar Daddy who likes a bit of rough sex and dirty whispers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Expensive Taste

My legs were the first thing that caught his eye, so he said. Long, smooth, and curved in all the right places. He loved the soft skin of my calves and the even softer skin on the inside of my thighs. All I ever needed were a pair of Single White Female heels and a tiny little black dress to have him eating out of the palm of my hands. He knew it and I knew it, but we pretended otherwise.

“You’re late.” He said simply, watching me with his usual unnerving gaze as I took my seat across from him at the table. It was small and round, and always the same one; stationed in the quietest, most secluded part of the restaurant, away from prying eyes and ears. Personally, I found it to be a bit of a drag, but at least it was predictable.

“Hmm… am I?” I countered, newly settled in and finally comfortable enough to return his smolder. Harry Styles—as he was known—was gorgeous, no doubt about it. He had hair that curled and twisted away from his face in soft, brown waves, and eyes that were so clear and deep that looking into them was like drowning in various shades of green, blue, and grey. He was pretty enough that sometimes I had to remind myself that this was not just a casual thing.

“Well it is nice to see you. How are classes going?” Harry said, choosing to move past the topic of my tardiness. He sipped at a glass of red wine and eyed me over the rim.

“Classes are going great. I’m on track to have a 4.3 for the semester.” I replied.

We both knew why I was really there. What had really gotten me all dressed up and sweet smelling for him. I fingered the thin diamond tennis bracelet on my wrist and smiled at him.

“You always were a smart one.” Harry commented, and his eyes twinkled a bit as his gaze fell to my fidgeting fingers around the jewelry. “Expensive as hell, too.”

Yes, I had expensive taste. I liked designer shoes and handbags made of leather so soft it was like running my hands over flesh. I’d taken care of school myself with a full ride, four-year academic scholarship. Everything else, Harry dealt with. Maybe it was greed, or maybe it was something else a little harder to understand, but every time he pulled out his credit card, silver numbers gleaming as the attendant swiped it down the line, my heart raced a little faster, and I could feel a desperate ache settle between my thighs.

I could take care of myself; a few years later when I finished my MBA, I’d be making upwards of six figures anyway. But nothing was hotter than a man who could spend money on me like water and offer me the finest things in life. I was strong and independent so much of the time that when a man knew how to take charge—fuck me rough on top of the kitchen counter and tell me not to make a sound—it felt like letting go and giving into some primal, insatiable need.

I wondered if Harry knew just how much I loved it.

“So what have you been up to while we’ve been apart, Mr. Styles?” I said. It was nearly half an hour into dinner, and we’d both been eating quietly, listening to the faint jazz music fluttering throughout the restaurant like the dizzying chirp of a half-dozen birds.

“A bit of travel is all,” Harry offered, his lips twitching up into a secretive little smirk.

“I tell you everything about me. But I don’t even know what it is that you do.” I set my fork down and met his gaze, asking him with my eyes. “Please? Just tell me something.”

Harry’s tongue swept out briefly, and he bit his lip as he considered. “I’m in the music industry. I had some business in Paris this week; that’s where I was.”

I leaned in a bit, grinning. “Ah, a musician, huh?”

Harry didn’t smile back, but his eyes glittered in that way of his as he looked at me. “I’m a behind the scenes man. Think more boardroom, less studio.”

“Big strong executive, are we?” I mouthed, my voice barely over a whisper. I knew it drove him crazy when I did that.

“Careful,” He warned. “I have you all night and I can make you suffer.”

My breathe caught at that. I envisioned Harry’s large, strong hands running up my thighs, gripping the backs so tightly it almost hurt. “Please make me suffer,” I almost moaned.

Harry stared at me for a long time then, no doubt thinking about what he was going to do to me when we got back to his place. His imagination was probably running wild with images of my hands bound and my face buried into the mattress as he fucked me with abandon. It was in my imagination, too.

Seconds later, Harry lifted one long, silver-ringed finger and beckoned the waitress over. He paid the bill and the two of us left, his hands straying a little lower down my back than was respectable. We got in his the backseat of his car and the driver pulled off, driving in the direction of Harry’s house.

Along the way I thought about us and the delicate balance of our relationship. I’d only met Harry a year ago at some fancy Gala that a friend of mine had invited me to. I was wearing a strapless, royal blue dress, and in my hair were a pair of combs with embedded sapphires that were handed down to me from my grandmother. I only knew a few people there, so I’d spent most of my time straying on the outskirts, chatting here and there and enjoying the atmosphere. It wasn’t until almost the end of the night that I was approached by a man dressed in a black suit with red pinstripes, hair flowing down in waves to his shoulders. His face was young; smooth, tanned skin, bright eyes, and the lean, muscled figure of someone in their mid twenties at most. But his quietly powerful demeanor spoke of someone much older and certainly accustomed to having the world at his fingertips.

Harry wasn’t my type. I’d always liked my men tall, dark, strongly built, and immaculately clean-cut. But there was something about him that drew me in. Something that aroused a part of me I hadn’t even known existed. We talked about my schooling, my ambitions, my plans for my future. I told him how I was living with two roommates in a tiny dorm on campus that was in much need of renovation, and how I was working as a waitress on the weekends to try and take care of my expenses. Harry listened to all of it, only speaking from time to time to urge the conversation along. It was strangely therapeutic; dumping all of my issues onto a stranger. And he never once interrupted or complained, or even seemed to judge me. He just listened.

Later on, after I’d downed one too many glasses of wine and had talked myself into silence, Harry asked if I wanted to go back to his place. Normally I would have said ‘no’. In fact, my answer would be ‘absolutely not’. But that’s the thing with wine and a pretty face; nothing ever sounds like a bad idea with that combination. So I told my friend where I was headed, and I climbed into a car with Harry Styles, giggling and tipsy and hoping he wasn’t a serial killer.

The first night I stayed with Harry, he didn’t touch me. Only offered me a guest bedroom in his enormous house and told me I could stay as long as I wanted. But I called a cab and left first thing in the morning. The second time I gave in, Harry took me shopping, showering me in dresses and bags and shoes that cost more than my car note, despite my protests. And once again, he let me stay in his guest room, not touching me, not expecting anything in return. This cycle continued for a few more weeks. Me showing up after a moment of weakness, spending time with him like an old friend, talking and talking and talking as he listened and handed over his card more times than I could count.

I had no idea what we were. No idea what I was doing. But one night, I climbed onto Harry’s lap and straddled him between my thighs, leaning forward until my lips were pressed hot against his ear. “Fuck me,” I whispered. And he did. He fucked me until my hands were nearly ripping the sheets, and my vision had prickled over with black. After that, it became a regular thing. A weekly visit, a weekly fuck. Without me asking him to, Harry had taken it upon himself to set me up in a new apartment in the nicer part of the city, hand me the keys to a brand new car, and keep a steady flow of money into my bank account for whatever else I might need. You could say he spoils me a bit.

“Watch your step,” Harry said as he helped me out of the car a few minutes later. I took his hand firmly and allowed him to pull me up to a standing position in front of him. He smelled of something sharp and deeply intoxicating. It took everything I had not to bite at his neck right there in front of his house (if you wanted to call it a house at all).

I’d given up trying to learn the layout of Harry’s house ages ago. It was a ridiculous, sprawling expanse of luxury; marble floors, swirling staircases, and a priceless painting hanging in every room. Harry caught me admiring one as he walked in the front door behind me.

“This one’s new,” I muttered, looking up at the large canvas of swirling colors and harsh lines. I didn’t know the first thing about art, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

“I bought it at an auction in Paris,” Harry explained. And then, darkly, “Take your shoes off and come with me.”

Harry could be very polite in public. He was almost impeccably well-mannered and mild-tempered when all eyes were on him. But I knew him behind closed doors. I heard the cut in his voice and saw another form of him come alive inside the walls of his own house. This Harry was not to be disobeyed. This Harry believed in punishment and discipline and whispering dirty things in your ear when he was balls deep inside you. This Harry made my knees weak with one look.

I did as I was told and followed behind him until we reached the kitchen. Harry stood by large island in the center of the room, his hands pressed flat against the black granite countertop. He motioned for me to come to him, and when I did, he lifted me up and placed me on the counter in one graceful sweep. My bare legs dangled over the edge, and the backs of my knees shivered from the cold surface. It had been a long time since Harry had fucked me in the kitchen, and I was a little nervous of what he might have in mind.

He’d walked over to the enormous stainless steel refrigerator and was rooting through the freezer portion, a frown on his face as he did. I wanted to ask him what he was doing, but I knew better than that. So when he retrieved something and walked back around to face me, I bit my lip and said nothing.

It was a cherry red popsicle. The thin, rounded-top kind I used to eat when I was a kid. Harry unwrapped it carefully and handed it over to me without a word. I took it and stared back at him with a question on my face.

“Put it in your mouth.” He said. “I want you to eat the entire thing without making a mess.”

“Harry, what—”

His eyes darkened then, cutting me off mid-sentence with the realization that I’d made a grave mistake. His voice was slow and calculated with thinly-veiled fury when he repeated himself. “I said… eat it.”

So I put it in my mouth, sucking on it and licking my tongue along the sides, staring back at Harry as I did so. He seemed pleased, so I kept it up, moaning a little as I did so because clearly he was getting off on it for some reason.

And then oh—oh god. Harry had slipped his big, warm hand up my thigh to tug aside my lace underwear and press two fingers inside me. He kept them there and did not move them, just let me feel their presence pressed against my walls.

A real, involuntary moan escaped my lips this time, and as I moved my hips, frustrated with the stillness of his fingers, a chilled drop of sweet red juice dripped onto my hand.

“Making a mess already,” Harry tsked under his breath, eyes glittering at my discomfort. “For every drop you spill, I’ll punish you twice.”

Whimpering softly, I dragged my tongue against the cold, damp popsicle, trying desperately to remain focused on the task even as Harry’s fingers started thrusting into me and my mouth fell slack with pleasure.

“Dirty girl,” Harry rasped into my ear, adding a third finger and thrusting harder still as the sound of my arousal became wet and obscene. “Dripping all over your pretty dress.”

I sucked on the popsicle with everything I had, ignoring the sharp edges of brain freeze and the swelling ball of pleasure in my belly. I looked Harry in the eyes as I did, taking immense satisfaction in the way his glazed over at the sight of me and his thrusts went slightly off rhythm.

“Do you want to come?” He said after a while, his voice so soft and sweet it was almost like a different person had said it. My mouth was wet and sticky with popsicle juice, and I was just licking the last bits from the stick. With his words, he curled his fingers just the slightest, causing my back to arch and a desperate whimper to escape my mouth. “What was that?” He teased, a grin spreading over his lips as I panted.

“Yes!” I cried, pressing my forehead to his shoulder and moaning into the material of his charcoal black suit. “Yes!”

But Harry, the bastard, pulled his fingers free of me just as I was about to climax. The emptiness, the thievery of it, left me gasping.

“That’s too bad,” Harry lifted my chin, forcing me to look at him and the angry clench of his jaw. His thumb swiped over the sticky mess of my lips, and I saw him shake his head, so subtly I almost missed it. “Because I’m going to make you suffer.”

***

Harry shed his suit jacket and led me—or marched me, rather—upstairs. He walked behind me, prodding me with a harsh jab of his finger every once in a while to speed me up. At one particularly painful poke, I whirled on him and fixed him with a glare that I hoped made his blood run cold. “Easy Styles,” I gritted, holding my ground as he walked towards me, rolling up his sleeves.

His eyes were playful, but his mouth was pressed into a hard, furious line. When he gripped my waist and whirled me back around again, I could feel his erection pressing into my backside, firm and demanding. “You’ll do as you’re told,” He murmured into my hair. “Or it’ll be much worse than that.”

My knees nearly buckled at that. The way he was holding me, the gentle, but threatening graze of his finger along my cheek. I wanted him to fuck me so badly I could barely stand it.

“Yes,” I whispered back, closing my eyes to steady my head.

Harry gripped me tighter, his fingers digging into my sides. “Yes what?”

“Yes daddy,” I breathed.

And after that, there were no more protests from me until we reached the bedroom.

“Drop your panties and bend over the footboard.” Harry said, the hoarseness in his voice giving away how turned on he was. He stepped aside and gestured to the end of the King-sized monstrosity he called a bed. I watched him carefully as, one foot at a time, I stepped out of my underwear. As was usually the drill, I handed them over to him and he put them in his pocket. “Quickly now. Bend over.” He ordered.

And so I did, crossing my arms and placing my forehead against them so I was staring at the chocolate brown duvet. I couldn’t see him, but I could hear Harry walking towards me. Could hear his heavy footsteps on the rug and the telltale sound of his belt being slipped from its loops.

“You’ve been particularly insubordinate tonight.” Harry began. I could hear him sliding the belt over his palm over and over again as he spoke. “Tardy for dinner. Spilling on your dress. Talking back. It’s all unacceptable, I hope you know.”

I whimpered a little into the covers, knowing what was coming next.

“20 strikes. That’s my punishment for you tonight.” Harry lifted the hem of my dress and flipped it onto my back, revealing my plump, bare flesh. He smoothed his hands over my backside and down the insides of my thighs, ignoring the spot I wanted him to touch most. “Don’t you dare come. Or I’ll double it.”

The first strike landed with the loud slap of leather on skin. I yelped, jerking forward on the bed at the shock of the sting. “One,” I said aloud, because Harry liked me to keep count.

The next five stung equally as bad as Harry licked every inch of my ass with the belt. He did it slowly, agonizingly scattering them out so that there was no rhythm and no predictability. My entire body lurched with every strike, quivered with the rush of air over my most intimate parts.

“Seven,” I gasped into the covers with the next lash. Every inch of my skin already burned with the sting of leather, but Harry was far from finished, and I knew he wanted to see me suffer.

“Very good,” Harry mumbled, smoothing his warm palm over the sensitive patches of skin he’d targeted. “Very good,” One of his fingers slid between my legs unexpectedly and fucked into me a couple times before pulling away. It was enough to cause my back to arch with need and my hips to push out towards him, searching for release. I was wet for him. Excessively, embarrassingly wet, and Harry knew it. He gave me ten quick belt slaps in a row after that; they weren’t particularly rough, but they were enough to have me whimpering into the covers, my entire body alight.

The last three were slow and punishing; the sting they left behind seemed to linger for far longer than the rest, like the last embers of a fire dancing on my flesh. With every breath I took, I could feel the burn. It sent a rush up my spine and a throbbing between my legs. I felt more alive than I had in days.

“Look at you,” Harry muttered, gripping the fleshy cheeks of my ass and kneading them so hard it made me gasp. The pain was twisting, merciless. “You’re so turned on by this…” Harry gave me one more slap for good measure, and I moaned aloud, as if to prove his point.

“Fuck me Harry,” I whimpered, wiggling back against him and giving into the monster of my own need. I could feel the length of him, hard and pressing against the fabric of his trousers, and it was making me crazy.

“Take your dress off and lay back on the bed.” He replied, ignoring my incoherent moans. “Hurry please.”

Harry knew how to make me scream for it. My legs draped over his shoulders, my hands clutching the top of his head as he licked lazy circles around my entrance and ignoring the place I wanted him most… I felt like I was losing my mind.

“Fuck Harry!” I gritted through my teeth. “Just fucking touch me!”

Harry glanced up through his eyelashes and smiled at me from in between my legs. But of course he wouldn’t listen to me. He tortured me until I was begging for it, teased my body until I lost all sense of myself and was screaming his name.

“Should I let you come?” He murmured against me, the vibrations electric in my nerves.

I couldn’t form the words anymore. I just nodded and gripped his hair so tightly I thought I might pull some of it out.

At that, Harry placed his mouth over my clit and sucked. He dove in and devoured me with gentle bites and deep plunges of his tongue. I tumbled into orgasm, shouting, cursing, and lifting away. Harry never came up for air until my entire body was spasming beneath him and all I could do was whimper.

My eyes closed and I nearly dozed off right there, spent and exhausted. But then Harry was on top of me, kissing me and licking the sticky mess of cherry juice away from earlier. I could taste myself on his tongue, and I could feel his erection pressing into my thigh. Harry and I had never kissed before, so it surprised me enough to wake me from my stupor.

“You still want me to fuck you?” He whispered along my jawline, nipping at the skin there.

I could barely breathe at the closeness of him, at the intoxicating scent of his cologne mixed with sweat. For the first time, I touched his cheek like he always did to me, and I moved his head so I was looking directly into his eyes. “Fuck me until we break this fucking bed.”

And a minute later when Harry had shed his clothes and grabbed a condom from the side table, he finally slid inside of me, plunging deep until my eyes squeezed shut and my back arched from the bed. He fucked me hard and he fucked me well. When we both came and he pulled out to lay in the bed beside me, I fell asleep too quickly to get up and call a cab. In fact, I didn’t wake up again until nearly noon the next day, and when I did, there was a note and a red, thornless rose laying on the pillow where Harry had vacated. ‘Gone to work,’ it said, in neat, scrawling print. ‘Stay as long as you like, and buy yourself something nice.’ I smiled when I looked over on the pillow and saw his credit card lying there next to the rose, silver numbers glinting in the sunlight streaming between the curtains. I fucking loved my life.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think guys! I really appreciate comments :)


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